Litost
by TheSharpestHearts
Summary: Litost: Czech: The torment felt at the realization of one's own misery. Ecaeris Lavellan and her Inquisition, everything important and everything missing. (Will add tags and adjust rating as it becomes relevant)


1345 words. sfw. Ecaeris Lavellan and her Inquisition. Everything important and everything missing. _(Chapter 1 of ?: Cassandra, Varric, Leliana and Cullen leave Kirkwall together.)_ Ao3 | **Tumblr**

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"Nice ride you got here, Seeker," Varric leans over in his seat, over the book in his hands as stray hairs fall to frame his forehead, veiling his eye's from Cassandra's, his quill between his teeth. "Didn't think you'd bother with something like this," the corner of his mouth pulls up into a smirk as he speaks, voice gritting through the quill. The ink in his pen moves to clot the opening and gather at the tip, threatening to drip off. Cassandra grunts, disgusted as she sits and rubs her foot off on the carriage floor. Gravel and soggy paper stick to the bottom of her boot instead of mud, smelling of sewage instead of horse shit.

"It's not for you, Dwarf. It's fastest this way, the Divine's Conclave is far too soon," Varric glances up from his writing, ears focusing because he's still getting used to her accent, lisped but strong when wrapping her voice around the King's Tongue. He shoots her a smile for a fleeting moment, and she rolls her eyes.

The cart jolts and Varric rushes forwards, his foot planted firmly to the ground and stopping him from moving further. Cassandra doesn't twitch. The thin layer of ink left in his well splashes and the drop at the tip of his pen falls. It bounces onto his paper, staining the sheet and soaking into the layers beneath (his brow twitches in frustration, but he reminds himself that it's alright– he's done worse to these drafts on purpose).

The carriage stops abruptly and Varric keeps his head down, scribbling edits on what will hopefully be the final draft of this blighted thing.

"Seeker, when will we be picking up Curly and Nightingale?" he mutters, and she looks straight ahead, checking to make sure he's still busy with his writing.

Sounding disgusted, but purposefully looking away from her foot, she answers, "Near the coast, I think." She rubs her shoe off against the velvet backing of the seat in front of her, eager to be rid of the grit on her boots, the paper peeling off with sludge and sticking to the pristine fabric in yellowish brown clumps.

A fist bangs against the carriage firmly and Cassandra cringes, tapping her other foot frustratedly. She looks towards the window, her bulky gloved hand moving to push the small, velvet curtain aside, squinting at the two outside before frowning, "Or not, it seems.."

"Let them in, please," she speaks up and the bell at the door jingles, Cullen jolting through the doorway at Leliana's command as she shrieks from outside. Cassandra's boot still presses against the back of Leliana's seat.

" _Cassandra!_ You know better than _that,"_ She gestures to the mess at Cassandra's foot as she crawls in, "How are they supposed to clean _that_ up?" She looks to the warrior, then back to the papery brown sludge seeping into the velvet.

The Seeker frowns, looking down and scrunching her nose. (Maybe she's hoping to scare the stench away with a scowl, Varric thinks. If he were the smell, he would run and take his fishy-smelling ink with him. He almost wishes that he was that smell and that smells could run from Cassandra because then she wouldn't feel the need to chase after him.)

"Shall we continue, Milady?" the coach asks from above the cart, up where the light isn't a yellow which reflects off the wood and velvet making everyone look redder and browner than they are. She can see some of the outside, where it's bright now that the sun has come up and colored the sky with pastel blues and whites. The view from the inside of the carriage is limited, blocking out the ruins of the city and the gore on the roads. She doesn't thank them for covering it. She doesn't want to ignore it. The coach looks back at her for a response, and she nods. Leliana is still twisted in her seat, looking to Varric (who smiles at the Seeker's frustration, taking his quill from his mouth).

Leliana sits down properly as the carriage starts again and Cullen rubs his throbbing head. He's not sure if it's the withdrawal that is extending this for so long, or if he hit his head harder than her thought. He sees the look on Leliana's face and leans back in his seat, brushing her away and mouthing the words 'it's alright'. He's just now realizing how long it's been since his last dose. She nods, frowning and speaking to Cassandra again.

"How are we suppos-" She cringes in disgust, face contorting as she looked down towards the Seeker's boot, then back towards Cassandra, " _Ugh_ , what did you step in?"

"They'll find a way to clean it," she huffs. She knows this is mostly her frustration talking, but she'd rather not carry the stench with her. Another added irritation.

"How frustrated are you, Cassandra? Varric, what did you do?" Leliana steadies her voice, frowning as she looks at the dwarf, expression a more controlled kind of disgusted as she pulls the door behind her to check that it's shut, returning to her knees to look at Varric properly.

Varric, looking up, blows short and tedious strands of hair from his face, lips and eyebrows tilting down as he catches the glowering Seeker, then looks back at Leliana. He shrugs, voice controlled but confrontational, hostile but indirect.

"Well, your Seeker does seem to have trouble seeing that her prisoners have lives of their own to handle."

"Do not test my patience, Dwarf," Cassandra growls, legs and posture tensing as she turns to him, threatening "I should put you in chains, you are a prisoner and should, but no means, be allowed to sit around and write _stories_ ," she spits. Varric looks like he's on the verge of standing, even as the carriage is pulled along the stone, quill in his hand.

"What do you expect me-"

"Varric," Leliana warns, looking to her sister in arms, " _Cassandra_ ". The Seeker huffs, fists clenching for a second before she folds her arms over her lap, nodding once at Leliana.

"How are you doing, Varric?" she questions, raising an eyebrow, still looking mildly uncomfortable.

Varric glances back towards her, looking to Cullen who looks pained even as he attempts to drift asleep, his hand off his head. His eyes keep closed, hands in his lap as he focuses on the rhythm of the horse's hooves on the ground because it's the only steady sound here besides the throbbing of his head.

"Doing as well as I can be, I guess," he states rather plainly, (but nothing sounds plain in his voice, Leliana thinks, it's much more subtle than the lilting sound of a minstrel's voice, much more believable) visibly relaxing. She nods, watching as he dips his quill in the inkwell, finding it to be dry.

"I'm going to need more ink, though. I'll need to finish this and get it to my publisher soon, before someone explodes out of frustration at how long it's taking and blames me."

"Where's your publisher now, Varric?"

"Currently?" the adjustment to his voice shows the added attention he's giving, like he should be looking up still, but he keeps his eyes on his paper and licks the tip of his pen, "Heading to Antiva, I think. I know people who can get this to him," the ink doesn't come back.

Cullen shuts his eyes hard, hoping the rhythmic pulses of his forehead can ease him to sleep because Leliana's voice drowns out the horses. His armor cuts into the skin at his wrist (and his shoulders, hips, and neck) but it only pinches. Not all too distracting.

Cassandra grunts before Leliana even speaks, scowling as her foot resumes its impatient tapping.

"We'll get you ink at our next stop, don't worry. If you need anything, ask. You're only here to tell a story," she says, voice softening into sincerity.

He looks up this time, almost smiling at Cassandra's scowl before swallowing it down, nodding towards Leliana.

"Thanks, Nightingale."

"Of course."

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Note: This is a mess all I do is hop between perspectives. Oh well


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